


This World

by withthepilot



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-29
Updated: 2010-12-29
Packaged: 2017-10-14 05:16:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/145773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withthepilot/pseuds/withthepilot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the prompt: "They have a secret world/It's all they need for now and forever"</p>
            </blockquote>





	This World

"Don't, I said."

"But I can't wait any longer." He leaves space for a quickened breath. "To touch you."

And just like that, Karl's foot presses a fraction harder on the gas pedal. The road is rougher here than a few miles back, that other world where anyone exists who might care about either of them or what they do. Anton keeps leaning over to nuzzle the inviting, roughened skin beneath his ear and Karl has to shove him away so he doesn't drive the car into a tree.

"Just a few minutes now," he murmurs, and his hand closes around Anton's thigh like a sealed-tight promise.

The kid drops his bag in the doorway and gives himself a head start on a race to the bathroom, calling out his challenge when he's already halfway up the stairs. Karl laughs breathlessly, even as he's complaining about the unfair advantage. The laughter eases off when he has to dodge articles of clothing, shed and strewn over the steep steps: winter coat, woolen vest, cracked leather belt. Anton's brown corduroys, worn thin from excessive wear and love, lie crumpled at the threshold to the bathroom, an unnecessary skin he'll need again soon, but not here.

"You all but stuck your head in my lap, back in the car, and now you're running away?" he jokes, but it's moot now that Anton's curled in the tub, his shirt draped over the sink, bony arms wrapped around his tucked knees. His smile gleams, bright like the freshly scrubbed porcelain that surrounds him. Karl kneels next to the tub and bows his head; he pretends to test the water with his fingers. The fine-spun limbs make their way loosely around his neck and shoulders, pale fingers dragging through his hair.

"Not running. Leading the way."

This is all Karl needs: these moments, silent save for the running tap and the rhythmic scrape of his boy's fingernails across his scalp. The rest never helped and never will. He waits as long as he can to undo the first shirt button, then the second, the third.


End file.
